


Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This story is a sequel toThe Blossomed Thorn.





	Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror

# Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror 
    
    
         
    By: Michelle Sinclair
    Rated PG.  Drama
    
    **Note: This is a minor continuation, more or less, of the unending saga
    I seem to have started.  The chaos began with 'It's Probably Me'.  The
    previous installment (which brings the total up to four with this one)
    was 'The Blossomed Thorn'.  Anyhow, I hope you enjoy! 
    
    Ray Vecchio was about as happy as he'd ever been.  He couldn't 
    wait to leave for the warmth of Hawaii.  He had three vacation weeks
    coming to him and this time no one (not even a Mountie) would get in
    the way of his plans.  He'd said goodbye to Benny yesterday.  He had
    to admit begrudgingly that he'd miss that sometimes goofy, 
    often annoying and thoroughly confusing man.  Simply put, Ben 
    Fraser was the most decent human being Ray had ever known. Why 
    this fact befuddled and irritated Ray wasn't at all clear to him. Talk
    about your personifications of the phrase 'above and beyond the call
    of duty.'   Ray smiled.  He'd asked his best friend if he could swing
    some time off from Thatcher to go with him.  But Thatcher was wholly
    unaccommodating.  That frigid woman.  He didn't care if Ben was 
    involved with her.  She gave Ray the creeps.  Probably a vampire, Ray
    mused.  He wondered if Benny had ever noticed if he could see her reflection
    in a mirror.  Mental note: buy Benny a garlic necklace.  Ray checked
    his watch.  It was almost 4:00 P.M.  His plane left in two hours. Ray
    called a car to pick him up.  There was no way he was leaving the Riv
    in an airport parking lot for three weeks.  He heard the telltale honking
    of the cab.  Ray dropped his cellular phone on the bed, grabbed his suitcase
    and began to leave the room.  As if on cue, the phone began to shriek
    in that ugly little, bizarre way cellular phones had of ringing.  "Screw
    it," Ray said and ignored the phone and continued his way downstairs.
    Almost out the door Ray could still hear the little phone's petulant
    rings.  He sighed heavily and bounded back up the stairs to answer it.
    He flipped it open and stated: "Whatever it is, its gonna hafta
    wait till I get back from my Hawaiian Holiday--"Ray thought for
    a second and added with a wicked little grin, "Thank you kindly."
    
    "Detective Vecchio?" came the angry voice of Lt.  Welsh. 
    
    "Lieutenant.  Forgive me for being so abrupt but I have a plane
    to catch for my well-deserved vacation and if I don't get in the cab
    right now then I'll miss it."
    
    "We have a situation, Vecchio, and I think you might be interested."
    
    "Sorry sir, but I really am only interested in making my flight."
    Ray was rankled.  It wasn't that he didn't want to help with the 'situation',
    but he kept getting cheated out of his vacations.  That wasn't happening
    this time.
    
    "Fraser's been shot."  That statement certainly got Ray's attention.
    
    "What??  Is he all right?"
    
    "We don't know.  There's a hostage situation at the Canadian consulate.
    Someone has already been killed.  Fraser is hurt and we don't know what
    these bastards want."
    
    "Okay. I'm going down there."
    
    "We've got a team down there trying to negotiate with them.  I thought
    since Fraser was involved--"
    
    "On my way, sir."
    
    "Sorry about Hawaii, Vecchio."
    
    "Me too."  Ray hung the cellular phone up and headed downstairs.
    He told the cab to take him to the consulate instead of the airport.
    
                                 *****
    Ray was standing next to a couple of members of the bomb squad.  There
    were at least twenty squad cars around the consulate.  Swat teams, hostage
    negotiators.  Even a few cops in riot gear.  
    
    "What are we doin' here?  There are people inside there!" 
    Ray said to someone who was obviously in charge.
    
    "*Who* *Are* *You*??"
    
    "D.t. Ray Vecchio."
    
    "Vecchio . . . right, Lt. Welsh told me he was sending you down
    here.  Apparently you know one of the hostages?"
    
    "Yes sir.  Constable Benton Fraser."
    
    "Well keep quiet, Vecchio, and if we need anything we'll let you--"
    the commanding officer's admonitions to Ray where cut off by the bloodcurdling
    scream that erupted from within the consulate.  All of Chicago 
    probably heard it.  The scream was followed by the distinct sound of
    a semiautomatic weapon being fired.  An unearthly silence fell over the
    battalion of policemen. Suddenly, a shrill sound sliced through the quiet.
    It was the commander's cellular phone.  He flipped it open.  Ray watched,
    in horror.  Lord, God, what if they just killed Benny? 
    
    "Captain McNamara."
    
    "Ready to talk yet, captain?" mocked the voice of the man on
    the other line.
    
    "Killing the innocent people in there won't help you any."
    
    "Oh, I disagree.  What an embarrassment this is for the American
    government, allowing Canadian officials to be murdered on your own soil."
    His laugh was sinister. "We don't want to see anyone else killed.
    We want to help you, but you have to help us. We need to talk to one
    of the hostages.  We have to know they're not all dead."  Ray watched
    nervously.  
    
    "Captain," he said in a hushed yet pressing tone, "Let
    me talk to one of the hostages.  I know some of the people in there.
    I think I can get a good assessment of the situation even if the hostage
    is too frightened to talk."  The Captain put up his hand as if to
    say "Hold that thought."
    
    "Okay captain.  We'll let ya talk to one of the prisoners."
    
    "Tread carefully, detective," the captain warned as he handed
    Vecchio the phone.  Ray nodded curtly.
    
    "Hel--Hello."  The strangled voice belonged to Meg Thatcher.
    Dammit!  He was hoping they'd put Benny on.
    
    "Inspector, are you all right?"
    
    Thatcher recognized Vecchio's voice, she gave a little glance in Ben's
    direction.  He was still slumped over on the floor and she could see
    the blood seeping through his uniform.  "I'm uninjured.  Others,
    though, are not."  Her voice was trembling, it was all she could
    do to remain coherent.
    
    "Fraser?"
    
    "Has not fared very well."
    
    "Is he alive?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "How many are injured?"
    
    "Four."
    
    "Dead?"
    
    "Two."
    
    "Inspector, do you know who these men are?"
    
    "Yes, they're--" The sound of Thatcher's shriek came through
    the phone.
    
    "Inspector!!"
    
    "Enough chit chat."
    
    "What did you do to her?"
    
    "Are you ready to hear our demands?"
    
    "What are they?"
    
    "Simple enough, really.  We demand 20 million dollars in unmarked
    bills and a helicopter be brought here within two hours.  If this is
    not done promptly, we will begin executing the people in here."
    He hung up the phone.  The captain had been listening in on another line.
    
    "We gotta get in there," Ray said.
    
    "Officer Bryant--get me the commissioner.  I'm open to suggestions
    if you have any, Vecchio."
                                 *****
                                    
    Meg had dislocated her shoulder, she was positive of it.  When that barbarian
    had slammed her into the wall, she had felt it pop.  It was almost impossible
    to move the arm.  It hung there limp at her side.  The only fortunate
    thing about having been injured had been they had thrown her at a wall
    near Fraser and she was now quite close to him on the floor.  They weren't
    paying either of them much attention as Fraser was still inert and she
    seemed too banged up to do much damage.  She inched as close to Ben as
    she could.  
    
    "Fraser," she whispered close to his ear.  There was no response.
    She made sure the men weren't looking her way and slid a hand on Fraser's
    neck to check for a pulse.  It was faint, but it was there.  She breathed
    in deeply and thanked God he wasn't dead.  He had 
    taken that bullet for her after all.  They had wanted to shoot a hostage
    to make a point.  They thought killing the highest ranking officer was
    the best choice.  Fraser disagreed.  Again she said "Fraser."
    She saw his eyes begin to flutter open.  When they did finally open,
    the usual clear blue of his eyes was clouded by agony.  
    
    "Sir," he managed.  It was like a gasp for air.
    
    "Keep quiet, constable.  We are still being held hostage."
    
    He managed to lift his head a little.  He saw the terrorists and put
    his head back down. 
    
    "We . . . have to . . . to do . . . to do something."
    
    "We do," she agreed.  Now, how two Mounties, one teetering
    on the edge of unconsciousness and the other with a useless right arm,
    
    were going to 'do something' abut 12 armed and highly dangerous 
    terrorists with semiautomatic weapons, was beyond her.   She 
    noticed Constable Turnbull was still uninjured but tied up in the opposite
    corner.  She wondered how much help he'd be anyway.
    
    "Turn . . . Is . . . Constable Turnbull . . . "
    
    He had the same thought apparently.  "He's incapacitated.  Uninjured
    but tied up."  She looked over at the terrorists.  They were self
    involved for the moment.  Everyone was either too hurt or tied up to
    be a worry to them.  They were chattering in French.  Dammit, if she
    had only continued taking French classes in college, she might know what
    they were saying.  
    
    "Is . . . that . . . French?"
    
    "Yes, our captors are Quebec Separatists.  I believe the man in
    charge is Jacques Loiret."
    
    "Leader of the left wing militia group that seized the outpost of
    the RCMP in North Bay last month."  That was a rather focused and
    coherent statement.  Thatcher hoped it meant he would be able to help
    after all.
    
    "Yes.   They killed several people there."
    
    "But with an explosive device.  They didn't actually take hostages."
    
    "No, this is new for them."
    
    "Who said you could talk?"  Came the angry voice of Loiret,
    pointing the barrel of the gun in Fraser and Thatcher's direction.
    
    "This man is severely injured."
    
    "Lucky he's not dead . . . at least not yet."
    
    "The Americans won't give into your demands.  They won't bow down
    to terrorism.  Especially when their own citizens are not the ones in
    danger," Meg said.  She had captured Loiret's interest for the time
    being.  Fraser was attempting to sit up.  He fought against the pain
    and finally was upright.  He could see all the blood that had stained
    his shirt.  His red serge jacket was open and the blood was clearly visible
    on the white undershirt.  
    
    "Maybe so.  But what a political disaster for them.  And the Canadian
    government won't like that their little consulate in Chicago was blown
    up, now will they?  Maybe then they'll listen. Then, they'll have to
    listen." 
    
    "I think . . . I think you aren't . . . seeing the forest for the
    trees," Fraser said.
    
    "Oh, enlighten me, Mountie."
    
    "Well, sir.  You see.  You're in here with us.  Out there is a veritable
    legion of Chicago police.  They will not let you escape.  You will die
    in here with us.  What comes of your plans then?"
    
    "Narrow minded thinking, constable.  You see, if we die, we become
    martyrs for our movement.  We win either way.  That's the key of effective
    terrorism, constable, you have to be ready to die for your cause."
    
    "Are you ready to die?"  Ben asked.
    
    "Ah, the question is constable, are *you* ready to die?"  He
    leveled the gun at Fraser's head.  
    
    "We all have to die sometime," was Ben's slow, measured answer.
    
    Loiret saw the terror in Meg's eyes.  He looked from her to Fraser and
    then back to her.  "I think death would be too easy on you, constable.
    You obviously were willing to die for your superior officer.  I commend
    that loyalty.  Perhaps I should make her suffer.  Maybe that would get
    a reaction from our cool detached constable Fraser."   Loiret reached
    down and grabbed Meg's bad arm and jerked her up 
    to him.  He had the gun in her face.  "No false moves inspector."
    
    Ben watched in dread.  He wished he could get up, do something 
    to help her.  His legs wouldn't obey though.  Besides, someone 
    had come over at  Loiret's beckoning and was now holding Ben down.  "Pretty
    little inspector.  No one can save you now."
    
    He was hurting her.  The pain shot through her entire body.  She was
    terrified.  But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.  She wouldn't
    tremble for him.  She stood there stock still. "Such a brave woman.
    Let's see how brave you are."  He heaved her to the floor and stuck
    his boot between her chin and collar bone.  He kneeled down over her,
    now training the gun on her neck.  He brought his free hand down as if
    to hit her.  But he didn't.  Instead he laid a gentle hand across her
    cheek.  It was an appalling, startling action.  It made the hairs on
    the back of her neck stand up.  
    
    "Aren't you going to beg me not to do it, Inspector?  Shed a tear
    or two?" 
    
    She remained quiet.  If this man was going to rape her, right here, in
    front of Fraser and Turnbull and all the others, she swore she wouldn't
    cry out.  He smiled at her.  He took his hand off of her cheek and ripped
    her suit jacket open.  He placed his marauding hand on her breasts. He
    was reaching for her skirt, and she saw an opportunity.  She quickly,
    deftly, kneed him in the groin.  It happened fast, he reeled back and
    she sprang to her feet.  Another man had her in his arms then, holding
    her captive.  She struggled desperately, but it was no use.   Loiret
    said something about her in French that she understood all too well.
    Loiret came over to her.  "Stupid!  You should not have done that!"
    He took his gun and slammed her across the side of her head with it.
    She crumpled to the floor.  The gash on her head was oozing blood.  Ben
    winced at this.  He also winced at his own helplessness.  He had to do
    *something*.  He was a Mountie.  He couldn't let this go on.  
    
                                 *****
    Ray was impatient.  An hour had passed and they had only one hour left.
    Capt. McNamara was working on the demands of the terrorists.  They had
    gotten word from the FBI that the left-wing separatist group from Quebec,
    led by Jacques Loiret, had claimed responsibility for the seizure of
    the Canadian consulate in Chicago.  He had to get inside, just talk to
    Benny . . . 
    
    "Captain?"
    
    "What, Vecchio?"
    
    "I need to speak with one of the hostages."
    
    "They're not going to allow that, Vecchio."
    
    "Let me just try sir.  I know if I can talk to Constable Fraser
    that we can come up with a way to end this situation without anyone else
    being killed."   McNamara thought this over.  It was becoming obvious
    that although they didn't ever want to risk the lives of innocent people,
    they couldn't give into the terrorists' demands.  The commissioner had
    given his order: try to get them to surrender, if they won't surrender
    within the hour, storm the consulate.  They had conferred with the Canadian
    government.  The government had agreed that the men inside couldn't be
    allowed to get away with this.  Their citizens were at risk, but so too
    was national security.  
    
    "All right Vecchio.  Let's give it a try."  Ray called the
    consulate's number.  
    
    "C-C-C-Can--adian C-Consul--sul-ate."
    
    "Turnbull?"
    
    "If you are calling for Inspector Thatcher she is . . . indisposed
    . . . if you'd like to speak to the people in charge--"
    
    "Turnbull, why are you answering the phone?"
    
    "They . . . told me to . . . "
    
    "What's going on Turnbull?  Where's Fraser?"
    
    "Fraser is unable to come to the phone."  Ray realized he was
    now talking to one of the terrorists.
    
    "Is this Loiret?"
    
    "Yes, have you met my demands yet?"
    
    "We're workin' on it.  But I need to speak to Constable Fraser."
    
    "Forget it.  No more talking to the hostages."
    
    "Look, there's no point for us to meet your demands if you're killing
    off the people in there."
    
    "Very well.  You can talk to the constable."
    
    "Ray?"
    
    "Benny . . . thank God you're okay."
    
    "Barely, Ray."
    
    "Benny, we gotta come up with a plan.  In 45 minutes we're coming
    in with guns blazing."
    
    "Understood, Ray."
    
    "Have they killed anyone else since I spoke to Thatcher?" 
    
    "No . . . but she is . . . she was . . . hurt."
    
    "Listen to me Benny.  We *need* a plan."
    
    "The one you suggested is good, Ray."
    
    "What?  Ben--everyone will die if we raid the joint."
    
    "That's the only way to end this, Ray."
    
    "Stop it Benny!  That's not like you.  There is a solution to every
    problem."  Ray's fear was increasing 10-fold.  If Benny had lost
    hope, then what could *he* possibly do?  
    
    "Ray, listen to me.  It's time to give up before the situation *blows*
    up."
    
    "Blows up?  Benny, are they planning on blowing up the consulate?"
    
    "Mmhmm."
    
    "When?"
    
    "Soon."
    
    "Ben . . . hold tight."  Ray flipped the phone shut.  "Captain,
    those terrorists are planning to blow up the consulate very soon, we
    have to do something, *now*," Ray insisted.
    
    "What would you suggest, detective?"
    
    "I don't know, sir. I just don't know." 
    
                                 *****
                                    
    Ben's body was aching. The sharp pain caused by the bullet wound was
    nothing compared to the pain of embarrassment.  He never 
    should have allowed those men into the consulate.  He should have done
    a better job stopping them from seizing the place.  What he could have
    done up against twelve armed men, he wasn't sure.  He wished the police
    would just raid the place already.  He looked over at Meg.  The blood
    from her head wound had formed a small little puddle near her face. 
    He reminded himself that head wounds bleed more than others and therefore
    often look worse than they really are.  If the police did raid, he decided
    that he would use all his remaining strength and climb on top of Meg
    to shield her from the bullets that would be flying.  
    
    He had been floored by her bravery when Loiret had been about to rape
    her.  It wasn't that it surprised him, only that he wondered how calm
    he himself could have remained in such a situation.  Loiret.  That bastard
    had to pay for this.  For killing those people in the RCMP outpost in
    North Bay.  For killing Genie and Elyse from the secretarial pool.  For
    almost raping Inspector Thatcher.  Ben decided suddenly that the only
    way to save everyone else was to take down Loiret.  Now.  If he could,
    and then the cops raided, maybe everyone else's life could be spared.
    Ben mustered up the energy to stand.  He was leaning 
    heavily against the wall, but at least he was upright.  Four of the 12
    men had gone into Thatcher's office to see if they could get any information
    off the computer.  That left eight out here.  Three were watching the
    other prisoners. The last five, including Loiret, where huddled together,
    discussing strategy in French.  Ben caught Turnbull's attention. He made
    a small gesture, meaning "Can you get loose?"  Turnbull slowly
    moved his hands from behind his back, Ben noticed the ropes where off.
    Ben nodded.  Turnbull, who also had gotten free of the ropes around his
    ankles suddenly stood and lunged at the five men huddled in conversation.
    That was all the distraction Ben needed.  He went at Loiret.  There was
    a struggle for the gun.  No one else could move.  Not the prisoners,
    not the terrorists.  Everyone watched Constable Benton Fraser and Jacques
    Loiret do battle.  Ben, due to his injury, was severely outmatched though.
    Loiret had Ben on the floor, in the same position he had Meg earlier.
    
    "I have had enough of you!"  He bellowed.  He was going to
    end Ben's life once and for all.  He put the barrel of the gun on Ben's
    forehead.  "Pleasant dreams, Constable." Just then, the doors
    of the consulate flew open and a team of cops rushed in.  
    
    "Drop your weapons!  Everybody drop  em!  NOW!"  one cop ordered.
    
    The terrorists where severely outnumbered.  Despite Loiret's claims that
    they were willing to die, it was now excruciatingly obvious that this
    wasn't the case.  No one was ready to die here today.  No one, save Mr.
    Loiret himself.  He was the only one who didn't drop his gun.  It was
    still firmly in place against Ben's head.   Ray had followed the team
    in and now saw the dire situation his friend was in.
    
    "Put down your weapon!"  Ray ordered, aiming at Loiret with
    his hand gun.  
    
    "You all abandoned me!  But I will succeed!  I will, and this,"
    he pointed now at Ben, "will be the symbol of the revolution."
    
    Loiret was raving.  He was clearly insane and clearly bent on killing
    Benny.  There was going to be no reasoning with him.  Ray decided then
    that he would have to shoot him down. Before Ray could fire though, Loiret
    was crashing to the floor due to Meg Thatcher's hard kick to his leg.
    Quickly thereafter, one of the officers had restrained Loiret. Ben was
    still lying prone on his back.  Ray rushed over and carefully helped
    Ben to his feet.   "God, you're still bleeding," Ray said.
    
    "It's okay Ray.  Obviously I wasn't shot in any major organs.  I'll
    be all right."  He suddenly remembered Meg.   She was still on the
    floor, but sitting up a little now.  She had somehow managed to crawl
    over to Ben and Loiret and deliver the kick that brought him down. 
    
    "Inspector," he said urgently.  He moved over to her and offered
    him her hand.  She took it and she was on her feet now, wobbly, but okay.
    
    The officers had the situation under control now.  "Um, if you don't
    mind I'm gonna get these two to a hospital," Ray said.  He was standing
    between Benny and Meg, and they both leaned on Ray 
    for support. 
    
    "We'll take it from here Vecchio.  Good work."
    
    "Thank you captain."
    
    "Ray?"
    
    "Yeah Fraser?"
    
    "You missed your plane."
    
    "I know Fraser.  It's all your fault."
    
    "I am sorry Ray."
    
    "That's okay Benny, I forgive ya, this time."
                                    
                                 *****
                                Epilogue
                                    
    Ben Fraser arrived at the Canadian consulate the morning following the
    terrorist seizure of it.  He walked in.  As he walked, he could feel
    the pain that was caused by his bullet wound.  He could also feel the
    tight wrapping of the wound's dressing.  It made him uneasy.  Not because
    it hurt, but because it reminded him of how badly 
    everything might have turned out. Inside of the consulate, the cleaning
    staff worked now to pick up after their uninvited guests.  The office
    was closed today so Ben knew no one else would be there that was
    there yesterday.  He was going to go to his office and see what 
    damage had been done in there when he noticed the door the 
    Inspector Thatcher's office slightly open.  He quietly entered.  She
    was there, with her back to him, picking up some fragments of a 
    vase that where on the floor.
    
    "Excuse me ma'am."  She spun around.
    
    "Constable.  The office is closed today."
    
    "Yes, I know.  I wanted to tidy up my office.  Can I help you with
    that?"  She looked ragged.  Her eyes looked as if she had been crying.
    Her right arm was in a sling (she had a separated shoulder).   She had
    13 stitches in the side of her head to close the gash Loiret had left
    there.  She wondered idly if there was anything the doctors could give
    her to repair the gash in her soul.
    
    "No.  I'm fine."
    
    "I thought you would come over last night."
    
    "I couldn't.  I wanted to be alone."
    
    "I thought--maybe you would like to talk about it."
    
    "No.  I'd rather not."
    
    "Understood."  He turned to leave her office.  He knew she
    needed space from him now.
    
    "Ben?"
    
    "Meg?"
    
    "I was terrified."
    
    "You were very brave."
    
    "I was very lucky."
    
    "Did I ever tell you the Inuit story about bravery?"
    
    "No."
    
    "Would you like to hear it?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Once there was an Inuit girl, her name was . . . "
    
    She listened to his words as he relayed the story to her.  The story
    seemed to make little sense, though surely there was a point in 
    there somewhere.  She found herself smiling at his words.  Smiling at
    him.  Her lover.  It was hard to believe that she had finally given into
    the desire she had for him.  "Ben, can we leave here?  Finish this
    story somewhere else?"
    
    "The park?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Very well, let's go."  He took her hand.  They were walking
    out, past all the debris that lay around.  
    
    "I don't know that I'll ever feel safe in this place again,"
    she sighed. 
    
    "You will.  You're strong, your courage will carry you through."
    
    "With your help."
    
    "If you need it.  I think you'll do it on your own."
    
    "What if I don't want to?"
    
    "Then you won't have to."
    
    "What was the Inuit girl's name again?"
    
    "It was Meg."
    
    "It was not."
    
    "This is my story, not yours.  If I say her name was Meg, then that
    is what her name was."
    
    "Very well, proceed constable."
    
    "Meg dwelled among many she thought stronger than she . . . but
    she was soon to realize, she was more courageous and heroic than she
    ever knew . . . "
    
    THE END
    


End file.
